


Promising Career in Espionage

by LadyCrimsonAndBlack



Series: the thing about a genius with access to computers... [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Q, F/M, Female Q, POV Outsider, Q is a Holmes, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCrimsonAndBlack/pseuds/LadyCrimsonAndBlack
Summary: “Miss Holmes,“ M started, unable to hide a hint of incredulousness in her voice. “Are you implying that you hacked the MI6 on a dare?”(Or, how Q really got the job by hacking the MI6, irritating M and erasing herself from existence. It was Mycroft's fault, really.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know that I shoud've been working on Golden Opportunity, but this little fic would just not leave me alone.

“Miss Holmes,“ M started, unable to hide a hint of incredulousness in her voice. “Are you implying that you hacked the MI6  _on a dare_?”

The woman sitting across from her lifted one disdainful eyebrow and flicked her cold grey-green eyes over M’s frame. She seemed utterly unconcerned by being abruptly accosted from her flat and brought to the interrogation room like a criminal. If M didn’t know better – and she  _had_  met Wilhelmina Holmes’ brother, so she did, actually, know better – she would’ve thought her stupidly arrogant by the way she was chillingly calm about her rather helpless situation.

As it was, M was not fool enough to ever claim a member of the Holmes family was stupid, so she merely settled for arrogant.

“No, I am not,” Miss Holmes replied in the crisp accent that revealed her privileged upbringing. “I am  _saying_  that I hacked MI6 because my brother expressed some doubts about my ability to do so.” She seemed utterly insulted by such a notion, her eyes narrowed and lips pressed together before they stretched into a sneer. “Of course, it was a feeble attempt at manipulation on his side, in hopes of getting any kind of information about your organization. Ever since you took over Mycroft has been having difficulties trying to obtain it. He is ever so cross with you,” she said, darkly satisfied as only a younger sibling can be. “He’s been insufferable.”

M fought the urge to sigh. Bloody Mycroft Holmes. “And have you given any of the information you’ve found to your brother?” M dearly hoped that Miss Holmes hadn't because if the eldest Holmes sibling somehow managed to gain a foothold within the SIS, M would begin thinking about resignation. There was not a chance in hell that she would accept being the ambitious bugger’s puppet.

The other woman graced her with a look that plainly questioned her intelligence. “Of course not,” she denied, rather categorically. “If he wants something from your servers, he can bloody well hack it himself. Or have one of his underlings do it. It’s not as if it’s hard,” Miss Holmes said, voice thick with scorn.

M couldn’t help but swell in indignation at the casual insult. They had one of the best computer securities in the world, and even if Boothroyd was a little behind of times in that particular matter, he was still sharp enough to hire those who  _weren’t_  and delegate the job to them. “If it is so easy, Miss Holmes,” M started, leaning forward, vaguely threatening, “why were you caught, then?”

To M’s surprise, a smile stretched the other woman’s lips. It was a cold thing, jagged and deadly, and it held no warmth at all. It suited her, to that sharp-angled face and icy gaze. “You caught me only because I wanted you to,” she replied, her tone almost unbearably smug.

M gritted her teeth, about fucking done with this infuriating woman. She was as bad as Bond post-mission, still high-strung and drunk on adrenaline. “Explain,” M bit out.

The smile widened. “Consider this a job application.”

 

…

 

In the end, M  _did_  hire her.

Despite her utterly irritating disposition, Wilhelmina Holmes was undeniably brilliant and honestly interested in the work they offered. She was not shy about pointing out  _all_  the flaws she had managed to glimpse during her brief jaunt in their servers, but she was also approaching something that would on a normal person be called passionate as she explained how it could be repaired,  _made_   _better_. And that kind of dogged innovation and effortless creativity was something that MI6 dearly needed.

So, yes, M hired her.

The fact that she was another barrier between them and Mycroft Holmes was only an added advantage.

 

…

 

Few days later, Tanner came to see her about the newest addition. He seemed vaguely surprised.

“All the medical results check in,” he said. “She’s as healthy as a horse.” He paused.

M crossed her hands in front of her and leaned back in her chair as she observed him. “But?” she prompted when he failed to continue. Tanner was a big fan of emails in favour of personal visits concerning such insignificant matters. He had better, more important things to do than to regale her with every report directly. His mere presence indicated some either important or interesting news.

He sighed, and M suspected that he resisted pinching a bridge of his nose which was usually only reserved for the fuck-ups of the Bond kind. “Her psych eval,” he said. “She made the doctor cry.”

M blinked. “How?” she asked, because those psychiatrists were specifically picked for work with 00’s and even they had to really make an effort to get an emotional reaction.

Tanner graced her with a wry grin. He seemed reluctantly amused and quietly pitying, which was a rather strange combination. “Apparently, Dr Abernathy has some unresolved, but deeply-seated insecurity issues stemming from her childhood, which were only exacerbated by Miss Holmes’ revelation that her husband has been having an affair with her sister. By the time Miss Holmes managed to work up to her dress sense and taste in jewellery, Dr Abernathy was in hysterics and promptly stormed out of the room,” he paused, lips tight. “I suspect she’ll be handing in her resignation soon enough.”

M sighed. “And Miss Holmes?” she asked, interested.

Tanner’s lips twitched involuntarily. “All the other psychiatrists refuse to work with her,” he said, and he seemed grudgingly entertained. “She's rather smug about it.”

And she would be. M had no doubt that the peace form the Psych was the exact result the hacker had wanted.

“Well,” M said, and thought about the double-O agents. 001 almost religiously managed to somehow declare himself dead whenever the psych eval came around, 005 derived some kind of twisted pleasure from twirling her throwing knives when in a room with a psychiatrist, and the last time 007 was forced to attend one, he had ended up in a bed with his doctor. And the doctor’s husband. “At least she’ll fit right in.”

 

…

 

She did. Fit right in, that was.

It did not take long for M to receive notification that Wilhelmina Holmes has officially chosen not to respond to her given name, and was now only available by the moniker X. M did a little digging and soon realised that there was no Wilhelmina Holmes at all anymore, not in any record she could get her hands on. It was like she had never existed at all, and the only people that were even aware of her identity were Tanner and M herself. She didn’t know if this sudden change was a result of not wanting to be associated with her family for security reasons or the simple, old-fashioned resentment (which seemed a staple of any family-related matter regarding the Holmes family), but she was nonetheless impressed by the thoroughness of the wipe.

The newly-named X was promptly put in the field.

The thing was, M determined quickly enough based on her test scores, that X, despite her fragile appearance, was far from defenceless. Her hand-to-hand could use a little work, but she was still better than most of their junior agents, her firearms results were on par with 00’s and her sheer intelligence was sufficient to fill in any real gaps in her skills. After only a bare minimum of required training, X was ready to head out.

And she did.

She mostly went as a tech support when the problems were beyond the agents’ knowledge and was so efficient at it that it did not take long before she was steadily climbing up the ladder and working with the senior agents that had nothing bad to say about her skills. She never worked with the 00’s, but only because they were used to working alone. Though M did suspect that X could bring them to heel if she really wanted to. (The agents had nothing to say about her skills. It did not mean that they had nothing to say about her  _attitude_.)

She was a rising star of the MI6 and M was rather smug about how  _that_  risk had played out.

And then the accident happened.

X was physically fine, but her continued refusal to enter any kind of flying vehicle meant that her field days were over. She was reassigned to the Q Branch rather quickly.

Boothroyd was delighted.

 

…

 

X shone in the Q Branch as much as she had shined in the field.

By all reports M received, most of them from the ecstatic Boothroyd, X was as much of a genius on the computer as she claimed to be, and was no slouch in the engineering department either. Q Branch’s productivity was increasing in leaps and bounds and the number of the times the security has been breached was on an all-time low.

Still, the thing M appreciated the most was X’s daft hand in handling the double-O agents.

The first time she saw it with her own eyes, M was supervising a sensitive mission in Siberia, and the 008 had furiously shut down the comms because the handler for the mission was an incompetent fool that had led him straight into the ambush. M gritted her teeth and ordered the man out of her sight, barking at another agent loitering by to grab ‘somebody who bloody well knows what they’re doing, and is not a useless twat’.

They brought her X.

The woman calmly strode into the room, took in the situation with one sweep of those cool grey-green eyes and imperiously marched down to the computer, took a seat, and proceeded to ignore everyone else in the room.

It took her less than a minute to hack the comms, allowing them to hear the colourful courses that fell from 008’s lips.

X frowned. “008,” she said, crisply. Her fingers were flying all over the keyboard faster than M could follow, and multiple maps, satellite images, plans of the building and security footages were popping up on the screen in a flurry of colour that made lights dance in front of her eyes. X did not seem to have that problem, merely taking in all the offered information with a raised eyebrow. “Multiple gunmen coming from the hallway on your left. I suggest ducking, they seem rather keen on piercing the door with the machine guns,” she intoned steadily, not a trace of alarm on her sharp features.

008 threw himself on the floor instinctively just as bullet fire rained through the door. His cursing only increased and X’s frown deepened. “Language, 008, if they hear you, they will know you’re alive. I believe a sneak attack after they come in to check your corpse might do the trick.”

008 was already rising as the door opened. “Who the hell are you?” he hissed, bashing the leader into the head hard enough to crack the skull. “And where’s the idiot that was handling the mission before?”

X tapped a few keys. “I’m afraid that Andrew is currently being fired because of his blunder,” she said, watching emotionlessly as 008 broke a hand of an attacker with a sickening crack. Some people in the room actually winced. X gazed at the screens dispassionately. “I considered erasing all of his savings from his accounts for giving the abysmal impression of the Q Branch, but I’ve been repeatedly told before that being an employee of the MI6 did not mean any unsanctioned illegal acts would go unpunished,” she said, calmly, as if admitting criminal intent to a room full of government agents was no big deal. M swore that Tanner’s lips were twitching again. He seemed to have grown quietly fond of the other woman during her short time with the agency. “Take the door to your right, 008, it leads to a staircase. Go to the fourth floor.” M was barely able to muster the surprise when the agent followed the orders without a word of protest.

In fact, he was chuckling. “Could you maybe infect his computer with really bad porn if I asked nicely?” he said cheerfully as he gutted the one guard that had managed to follow him. He was limping, sprayed with blood and armed only with a blade he had managed to snatch from a corpse just a minute ago and he was having the time of his life. Bloody 00’s.

X seemed offended. “Of course I could,” she said, focusing on the tape of the agent barrelling through the doors of the fourth floor. “I could even sweeten the deal with the first class service on the way home if you listen to my instructions to the letter,” she continued on with a faint smirk on her face.

008 grinned wide and delighted at the camera. “What do you need me to do, sweetheart?” he asked charmingly.

X’s smirk widened to fairly sinister proportions. “See that window up ahead?” she asked and the agent nodded. “Jump out of it,” she said, and someone behind M choked. 008 laughed, striding to the said window and opening it. “And 008,” X started as the agent clambered on the ledge. “If you call me sweetheart one more time, I’ll make sure that the first class I promised you is actually a goat coach with a stopover in Cambodia,” she threatened with ease.

008 jumped and laughed all the way down until he fell into the lake.

 

…

 

M was not surprised when 008 requested ‘that snarky, threat-happy boffin I had last time’ on his next mission.

She  _was_  surprised when the other 00s started to follow his lead, and even more so when she received reports that those untameable beasts actually  _listened_  to X, mostly without complaint.

By the time she reached the place of the second-in-command of the Q Branch, X had successfully handled all of the 008’s save the 002 and 007, both of whom would never actually ask for a handler, let alone a specific one.

 

…

 

Bond died before he had a chance to meet X.

M thought it was a crying shame. Those two would get on like a house on fire; explosively and hotly, but most importantly, she suspected,  _passionately_.

And since both of them were rarely passionate about anything at all, she was sure it would be immensely amusing.

Then the bomb happened.

X became Q with little to no fanfare.

Bond resurrected himself. By now, she shouldn’t even be surprised.

 

…

 

They finally met in the gallery, and M suspected something happened judging by the amiable sniping over the comms, but didn’t have the chance to ask until they were on the road to Skyfall.

“What do you think about the new Quartermaster?”

Bond looked at her, long and hard, those blue eyes piercing, and M suspected he contemplated just lying to her. But, in a move that she knew was utterly unlike him, he told the truth.

“Q is… interesting.”


End file.
